


“I thought things were going great.“

by FoxyWolfMeerkat



Category: South Park
Genre: Break Up, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-09 19:42:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16456103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxyWolfMeerkat/pseuds/FoxyWolfMeerkat
Summary: Title is the prompt.





	“I thought things were going great.“

Stan Marsh is fucking content- at least for a little bit. He is stretched across his girlfriend's couch. His head is in his girlfriend's lap. Her graceful fingers are combing through his hair and she isn't even getting on his ass for how greasy the flat, black mess on his head usually is. He's looking up at her more than watching the movie she picked out.

And maybe that's kinda rude, but she is so beautiful. Smart and elegant and talented... Stan feels no shame saying that he's infatuated with Wendy Testaburger.

She's a lot less shitty than most of the world.

The movie ends and Wendy lets out that long sigh that long sigh that tells Stan she has something on her mind.

"I'm sorry," he responds instinctively.

"It's fine Stan. I just wish you'd show more interest in the things I'm interested in." She pulled her hand away, using it instead to lean on the armrest.

"Sorry... I do care, I promise."

"Okay. Prove it. What was the main point they made in the movie?"

"Well uh..." Stan sat up slowly so he could talk to her on more even ground. "It was about lady politicians, right?"

"And? I know what it was about Stan. What was the _point_? What argument did they present?"

"Oh. Well I know one of them was that lady politicians wouldn't – er, no, bad wording. Uh, basically they don't get cut as much slack? Like Hillary and her emails back in 2016 versus that one mayor who was, like, always getting caught doing drugs or whatever?"

Wendy gave him a suspicious look. "You said 'one of'. What else?"

Stan closed his eyes, raking his brain for what he'd heard over the last hour. "Only other thing I remember is how... 'women's looks need to be separated from their inherent value' so they can be taken seriously I guess?"

"And do you understand what that means?"

"Well, sure. It means caring what a lady has to say. Even if she's old or fat or funny looking. Like that Ed Sheeran guy. He's funny looking as shit, but lots of people still like his music- 'cause that's what they judge him by first. You know, because it's his job."

Wendy deflated a little and a bit of pride curled up his spine.

"Love you Wends..." Stan smiled fondly at her, reaching over to take her hand. "I know I can be kind of a shitty boyfriend, but I really mean it when I say I care about you."

Wendy stayed still for a long time, just looking at him. "Right... Stan, are you sure you're happy?"

"Happy? ...Well, with you, sure. I kinda thought that was obvious." Stan's eyes darted down briefly when Wendy pulled her hand away from his.

"I'm not sure I am." Wendy stood, moving further away from him. Looking out the window of the living room and away from Stan.

"Oh no... What can I do to help? You name it, and I'll-" He sat up, distressed at the idea of Wendy feeling bad.

"Stan, stop," Wendy ordered as she turned to face him. "That's not what I meant."

"Then..." Stan stood as well. Arms wrapped around his waist as he leaned a little forward towards her. "What do you mean?"

"This," she gestured between them, "us. I keep waiting for it to be something more but it never is! It's always just okay."

Stan's face and arms went limp, but his back stiffened and straightened. "Just.... I... I mean I thought things were pretty great."

"Not really? It's hard taking care of you all the time, Stan. I want a relationship where I'm not the only one who has something to offer."

He gaped, heart sinking and mouth feeling dry. "...I'm sorry. Can I- What could I do to-?"

"Stan. I'm good. I'm done. There's nothing I want you to do."

"But! Wendy please! Is it- What did I do!?"

"Nothing. You're exactly the same as you've always been."

Stan's jaw dropped again, and he felt terribly nauseous. "Then... why? ...I know I'm not good enough, okay? But I thought you loved me..."

"I do like you Stan. But I want better than this."

He whined softly. "Please. We've worked through stuff before. Can we do that instead?"

Wendy scowled and shook her head, "No Stan. Because there is no more we."

He was desperate for some argument to make. To fight this. Instead, when she asked him to leave, he did. It was easy to imagine a tail tucked between his legs as he passed through the door.

She closed it behind him.

Stan slunk home, hands shoved into his pockets. Collapsed onto his own couch on arrival. Pressed his face into his hands. He was too sober for this shit.

  


Why was life like this?

Why was everything always, always reduced down to pure crap?

It wasn't fair.

Stan was tired.


End file.
